Chapter 14 #2
She stabbed a lump of rice, watching it break apart under the fork tines. “Time is what we don’t have. Every hour that passes is an hour he could be planning his next kill.”
“Or an hour closer to us catching him.”
They worked through the evening, watching the feeds as foot traffic slowed. The coffee shop closed at ten p.m. The gym at eleven. The farmers market had packed up hours ago. Only the mobile patrol units remained active, driving through neighborhoods where victims had lived.
At midnight, Holloway called it. “Day shift is done. Night teams take over. Everyone else, go home, get some sleep. Back here at five a.m. for day two.”
Harper didn’t want to leave, but Holloway’s tone left no room for argument. She and Silas gathered their things and headed out into the cool night air.
“Cabin or motel?” Silas asked.
“Cabin. I need space to think.”
The drive through the dark forest was quiet. Harper stared out the window, replaying the day in her mind. All those faces on the monitors. All those potential suspects cleared. Were they missing something? Was the killer one of the people they’d seen and dismissed?
At the cabin, Silas checked the perimeter while Harper changed into comfortable clothes. When she emerged, she found him on the couch, laptop open, reviewing their suspect database.
“You should be resting,” she said.
“So should you,” he said, eyes still fixed on the screen. “But here we both are.” He gestured to the space beside him. “Come here. Help me look at this with fresh eyes.”
Harper curled up next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell his cologne—something woody and clean.
They reviewed the files together, but Harper’s focus kept drifting. She was acutely aware of how close Silas was sitting, of the way his arm brushed against hers when he reached for his coffee, of the low rumble of his voice when he spoke.
“Harper.”
She blinked. “Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you wanted to look at the fiber evidence again.” Silas was watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “But you’re not really here, are you?”
“I’m here.”
“Physically, yes. But your mind is somewhere else.” He set the laptop aside, turned to face her fully. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Harper didn’t know how to articulate what she was feeling. The frustration of the failed operation mixed with exhaustion mixed with something else—an awareness of Silas that went beyond professional.
“I’m just tired,” she said, which was true but not the whole truth.
“Liar.” But he said it gently, without accusation. “You’re frustrated. Angry. Scared that we’re not going to catch him in time.”
“Yes. All of that.” Harper leaned her head back against the couch. “And I’m tired of feeling helpless. Tired of being three steps behind. Tired of women dying while I can’t figure out the pattern fast enough.”
“That’s not on you.”
“Isn’t it? I’m the one who gave that press conference in Nevada five years ago. I’m the reason he fixated. Every woman who’s died since then died because of me.”
“No.” Silas’s hand found hers, fingers intertwining. “Every woman who’s died since then died because of him. His choices. His evil. You’re trying to stop him. That’s not the same as causing it.”
Harper knew he was right logically. But emotionally, the guilt still weighed on her like a stone.
“I keep thinking about what you asked yesterday,” she said quietly. “About what happens after. When this is over.”
“What about it?”
“I realized I don’t want it to end. Whatever this is—” she gestured between them, “—I don’t want to lose it when the case closes.”
Silas was quiet for a moment. Then, “What do you want, Harper?”
“Honestly?” She sighed, her gaze traveling the room. “I don’t know. I’ve spent so long being alone, being independent, not letting anyone get close. And then you showed up and just...broke through all of that without even trying.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s terrifying.” Harper met his eyes. “Because everyone I care about ends up gone. My father. Michael. What if something happens to you because of me? Because I let you get close?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“You’re right. I can’t.” Silas shifted closer, his free hand coming up to cup her face gently. “But I can promise that I’m here now. That I choose to be here, knowing the risks. That I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to go.”
Harper’s breath caught. The air between them felt charged, electric. She could feel her heart pounding, could see her own desire reflected in Silas’s eyes.
“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.
“Then I won’t.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then Silas leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away. Harper didn’t. She met him halfway, their lips coming together in a kiss that was gentle at first, tentative, testing.
Then Harper’s hand came up to thread through his hair and the kiss deepened. Silas’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. All the tension and frustration and fear of the past weeks poured into that kiss, transforming into something hot and urgent and necessary.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Silas rested his forehead against hers.
“We should stop,” he said, though he made no move to let her go.
“Why?”
“Because you’re exhausted and emotionally wrung out and I don’t want to take advantage of that.”
“You’re not taking advantage,” she insisted. “I want this.” Harper pulled back enough to look at him directly. “I want you.”
“Harper—”
“I know all the reasons we shouldn’t. I know it’s complicated.
I know we’re in the middle of a case and we should be professional and we’re both running on fumes.
But I also know that I’m tired of denying what I feel.
” Harper’s voice was steady, certain. “I’m tired of being careful and logical and keeping everyone at arm’s length.
I want something real.” She edged closer. “I want you.”
Silas searched her face, looking for any sign of doubt. Whatever he saw there must have convinced him, because he kissed her again—harder this time, more demanding. Harper responded in kind, her hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warm skin beneath.
They broke apart only long enough for Silas to ask, “Bedroom?”
“Yes.”
Like a couple of teenagers, they practically jumped up from the couch, Silas holding her hand as he pulled her along with him.
They made it three steps before Harper’s phone rang.
They froze. Harper wanted to ignore it, wanted to throw her phone out the window and go back to kissing Silas. But years of training kicked in. A call at one a.m. meant something urgent.
Reluctantly, she pulled out her phone. Captain Holloway’s name glowed on the screen.
“Sinclair,” she answered, her voice rougher than usual.
“We’ve got movement. Team at the twenty-four-hour grocery store just flagged someone. White male, late thirties, watching a woman who matches the victim profile. He’s been in the store for forty minutes but hasn’t bought anything. Just following her aisle to aisle.”
Harper’s arousal evaporated, replaced instantly by intense focus. “We’re on our way.”
She hung up, met Silas’s eyes. His expression mirrored her own frustration and resignation.
“Duty calls,” he said.
“Yeah.”
They grabbed their jackets and weapons, the moment shattered. But as they headed for the car, Silas caught her hand, squeezed briefly.
“To be continued,” he said.
Harper squeezed back. “Definitely to be continued.”
***
The twenty-four-hour grocery store was nearly empty at one-thirty a.m. The undercover officer—posing as a night shift worker stocking shelves—met them near the entrance.
“Subject is in aisle seven,” he said quietly. “Female shopper is in aisle nine. He’s been maintaining distance but tracking her movements. Every time she moves, he moves a minute later.”
Harper and Silas split up, approaching from different directions to avoid spooking the suspect.
Harper grabbed a shopping basket and meandered toward aisle nine, pretending to shop.
She spotted the woman immediately—brunette, mid-twenties, petite, wearing scrubs.
Probably a nurse or medical worker grabbing groceries after a late shift.
Exactly the victim profile.
Harper moved to aisle eight, giving her a view into both seven and nine. She spotted the suspect—male, approximately thirty-eight, medium build, wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. He was studying a display of cereal, but his attention was clearly on the woman in the next aisle.
As Harper watched, the woman moved toward the checkout. The man waited thirty seconds, then followed.
Silas appeared at Harper’s elbow. “That’s him. That’s Oliver Webb.”
Harper looked again. The transient they’d lost track of two days ago. The one who’d disappeared right when they were closing in.
“Where the hell has he been?” Harper whispered.
“I don’t know, but we need to move carefully. If we spook him and he runs, we might lose our only shot.”
They watched as Webb followed the woman to the checkout, staying two customers behind her. The woman paid, gathered her bags, headed for the exit. Webb paid quickly—cash for a pack of gum he didn’t need—and followed her out.
“Team Two, subject is mobile,” Silas radioed quietly. “Following female victim profile. We need a tail on both of them.”
Harper and Silas exited through a different door, circling around to where their car was parked. They could see Webb in the parking lot, maintaining his distance from the woman but clearly tracking her movement.
The woman got into a small sedan, started the engine. Webb walked to a beat-up van parked three rows away.
“That’s it,” Harper said. “That’s got to be him. Van for transport, following potential victims at night—”
Webb’s van pulled out of the parking lot, following the woman’s sedan at a careful distance.
“We’ve got mobile units in position,” Holloway’s voice came through the radio. “Following both vehicles. Do not engage unless she’s in immediate danger.”